Today we visited a pumpkin patch, or more accurately, we visited a park that was pretending to be a pumpkin patch. (Since I have actually gone to a real pumpkin patch to pick pumpkins, I find these things more of a tourist trap.) There were many different pumpkins in groups, two bounce houses, the park train, face painting and hay rides. Then there was the hay maze.
The maze was small, but the walls of hay pales were just over five feet high, just high enough that most adults couldn’t cheat and toddlers could hide from their mothers who wanted to go and pick out a pumpkin. Evan and Sean LOVED it. Sean would go around the first couple turns and find himself at the entrance. He was so excited that he “found” the exit. Evan must have run through that maze a dozen times or so. When we were finally too exhausted to go through the maze yet again, Evan just went to other adults and asked if they would take him. We quietly led our son away explaining that those grown-ups had their own children to watch.
After much convincing, Evan was excited to help pick a pumpkin. He first went and picked out a tiny, perfectly round pumpkin. We explained that pumpkin was set aside for school children. Then he ran and picked up a tiny yellow pumpkin. Yellow? We explained how we wanted an orange pumpkin, so he picked a fancy, flat orange one. My husband explained we were looking for a big, round pumpkin. I showed him an example. Since we rudely tossed out his picks, now Evan didn’t want to play. Until I started to choose one out myself, Evan was content to sulk. Just when I was about to make my selection, Evan demanded to take the pumpkin he just found. I looked, and sure enough, he found the perfect pumpkin, orange, round, and big. Now to convince my husband not to carve it, so I can use it for pumpkin bread after Halloween.
After a picnic lunch of sandwiches that my husband made, the boys were running around. Actually Evan was running around, and my mother-in-law was pushing Sean around in a wheelbarrow. (She’s so sweet.) My father-in-law asked if Evan could have cotton candy. My husband said no as I said yes. Really, what’s the problem? So Evan received his first cotton candy (or at least the one he remembers).
First he didn’t know what to do with it. He held it like a blue Olympic torch. Then as fast as a hawk, I grabbed a chunk, breaking it into smaller pieces for the boys to eat. As the cotton-y goodness melted into sugar in their mouths, their eyes lit up. CANDY! I tore off more hunks as I tried to keep Evan from licking it. At the end, Evan looked at his paper cone with shreds of wet sugar and asked “Can we get some more?” Your mom isn’t that crazy, and it’s nap time. See the way you’re throwing that temper tantrum just proves that you are tired.
Besides next week , we’re going to Disneyland. They have LOTS of cotton candy there. Plus a Grandma with a sweet tooth to rival your mother’s.
